


Starcrossed

by mneiai



Series: Bastard Princes - fAegon & Jon Snow fics [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Aegon is a Blackfyre, Aegon is called Aegor, All the Targs are assholes to Jon in this, Alternate Universe - Rhaegar Won, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, House Blackfyre, Jon Snow is Called Aemon, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, M/M, Not Beta Read, Varys is a Blackfyre, sort of an AU of the first fic in this series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-12
Updated: 2019-06-12
Packaged: 2020-05-02 07:39:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19194586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mneiai/pseuds/mneiai
Summary: The spare Targaryen prince and a plotting Blackfyre across the Narrow Sea are destined for one another.





	Starcrossed

**Author's Note:**

> After writing Identities I was wondering to myself if they would, could, still be soulmates if the Targs were in power and decided to write this. I'm not really pleased with how it turned out, it's like the third attempt after trashing the first two, but I couldn't keep staring at it anymore.

If not for the mark etched against his skin, Aegor thinks he might have abandoned his family's plots long ago. Yet, there it is, the red dragon spanning his chest, a clear sign to all those on their side that it is time, that the throne is meant to finally be claimed by the line of Daemon Blackfyre.

It was, his father claims, his mother's last wish, though Aegor does not know how true that is. Perhaps her last wish was simply for them to live happily, and his father, ever grasping for more than he had, decided this was what it meant.

Certainly his Uncle Varys wants it, had wanted it long before Aegor was born. He'd worked his way into a position in the Targaryen court, keeping his true heritage hidden. None would guess theirs was a line that started with a Blackfyre daughter and Bittersteel himself.

He'd nearly had the Targaryens defeated, years ago, but the current king, Rhaegar I, had somehow managed to salvage his dynasty. In truth, Aegor was silently thankful for that, as his soulmate was born only a moon's turn later, and he did not know what would have happened to Prince Aemon had his family lost.

Varys, in truth, had changed plans upon seeing the newborn boy's soulmark, a black dragon painted on the tiny back by the gods, its eyes the exact shade of Aegor's own. Originally Varys had thought to have all but one of the younger girls killed in one way or another, forcing her to marry Aegor after he'd won the throne. Now, that was not necessary. He could go to King's Landing at any time and demand Aemon's hand in marriage and the High Septon would have to agree.

Not that he would--no, they weren't spending years sowing chaos across Westeros, weakening King Rhaegar's reign and quietly destroying his allies, just so Aegor could be the consort of a prince who would never inherit. He would come a savior to the realm as much as a conqueror, free them from hunger and strife, from civil war, and Aemon, soft-hearted and lonely, would surely swoon into his arms and become _his_ consort with ease.

***

To scholars, he's the Prince of Summerhall. To the North, he's all-but a Stark. To the court, and most of his family, he's the Bastard Prince--no one ever said so in front of Rhaegar, but very few of them acknowledged his second marriage as legitimate. His soulmark, to those who knew of it, just furthered that idea--the Bastard Prince destined for a bastard line.

To the people, though, Aemon is _their_ prince. 

Since no one bothered enforcing any schedule with him whenever he was dragged back to the Red Keep from Winterfell, he used his free time to travel through the city. He knew the septas and septons who ran the orphanages and kitchens, he knew the merchants who paid good money for honest work, the taverns that allowed even "foreigners" like his Northron and Essosi friends inside, and, most of all, the poor of the city. 

He brought them food when he could and blankets and clothing when it grew colder. He worked with the Faith, though he himself was not very pious, to help. Some compared him to Baelor, no matter what he did to dissuade them, and he almost wished he had that sort of convinction.

Aemon knew he was lucky, that despite how he was insulted and overlooked at every turn he had a place to sleep, food enough to never go hungry, and so many of the trappings of nobility. He may not have a Kingsguard--there were only seven and eight members of the family, and Aemon was so very easy to overlook. He may not have a physical seat--even when there was money to spare, Rhaegar always found other things to spend it on than restoring Summerhall. But he had plenty.

That was what he focused on to get him through his days in the Keep.

And it wasn't as though he was completely alone--while nearly all the nobles wanted Aegon's favor, not his, there were others who played different games. Varys and Baelish, perhaps the two least trustworthy men at court, both seemed to like Aemon to an extent. Second and third sons who had been snubbed by Aegon often found themselves in his circle, as well, even ones as accomplished as Loras Tyrell (Aegon did not inherit the Dornish ambivalence to a person's sexual practices).

But there was something lonely about the only family who cared about him being far away in the North.

Somedays, when he was by himself, he'd look at his soulmark in the mirror--a black dragon, a Blackfyre--and fantasize about what sort of person it was for. They were in Essos, surely, perhaps a sellsword or a sailor. Maybe they were a dashing bravo or a hardworking prostitute. Aemon didn't care, he just hoped that they grew up being told the same things about marks as he was--that they would wish to meet him, that they would love him despite the rivarly between their families. Sometimes those thoughts sustained him, too.

In the end, Aemon did flee. His father died (was murdered, the court said, everyone pointing their finger at this family or that, though Aemon knew who _he_ blamed) and Aegon's court was no place for him. Going North would be best, but the first ship he could find, with the help of Varys, that could discretely take him away from King's Landing was heading first to Pentos. 

When Aemon disembarked, happy to be on dry land in a city that didn't smell half as badly as the Westerosi capital, he only then realized that he didn't actually have to keep going. Varys had all sorts of contacts in Essos and one of them, a Magister named Illyrio Mopatis, had agreed to take him in for some indeterminate length of time.

His manse was large and airy. If not for frequent dinner parties, Aemon though he'd forget that it wasn't just he, the servants, and the guards living there. Avoiding all news from Westeros almost made time pass like a dream, with days merging into one another and Aemon never quite sure of what he was doing.

The daydream-lifestyle couldn't last forever, though it ended in a way that Aemon had not at all expected.

Another dinner, except this one was a small, intimate affair. Just two place settings, though Illyrio was not present. Instead it was a young man, who couldn't be much older than Aemon, with classic Valyrian features and a build that spoke of physical training.

"I'm sorry," Aemon started, not quite sure what the etiquette was for this in Pentos and deciding to be as polite as possible, "I was under the assumption I was dining here tonight."

The man was watching him intently, a little smile on his lips. "You are. Well, if you desire to."

"But...." He motioned to the table, to the one empty chair.

"It's just the two of us." The man stood and pulled the chair out for Aemon, waiting for him to cautiously sit. "I'm Aegor."

Aemon tensed, that name was familiar to any Targaryen, any Westerosi, even. "Is that..." he swore he could feel his soulmark tingling, "is that a family name?"

The man, Aegor, continued to smile at him as he took his own seat. "It is. I'm named after one of my ancestors."

Barristan Selmy had slain Maelys the Monstrous, but no one had kept track of Bittersteel's descendants the way they had Daemon Blackfyre's. Aemon had gone over and over the family trees, had known that this was a possibility. Calla Blackfyre married Aegor Rivers and no one knew what came of it. He'd hoped, foolishly, that his soulmate wouldn't be from Bittersteel's line, not after he'd so fervently tried to unseat Aemon's own family for so many years.

"How...how do you know the Magister?"

Aegor chuckled, waving to a nearby servant (slave, Aemon had come to realize, they were all slaves even if Pentos pretended otherwise) to bring out the food. "He's my father."

His breath almost catching in his throat, Aemon's mind raced with the implications of that. He was here, in this household, not because Illyrio was some great friend of Varys, but because he was the father of Aemon's soulmate. Or...or he was _still_ a friend of Varys, who had surely known _all along_.

"It's alright." Aegor reached across the table, squeezing Aemon's hand, and they both let out a soft gasp at the first contact. "You must realize no one here means you harm."

"Not me...just my family."

"Some family. Do you think any of them even bothered looking for you?"

Aemon pulled his hand away, standing up again and hurrying from the room before anyone could stop him. There were no locks on his door, but no one tried to force him out of the bedroom he'd been given, the most they'd done was leave a plate of food for him.

***

There were so many things Aegor had wanted to say to Aemon, but he was too shocked to call him back, to try to stop him from leaving. It could have gone worse, he reminded himself, Aemon could have reacted violently. But for all he knew his soulmate was plotting his escape, now, or trying to find some way to get word to his family.

Aegor's jaw clenched at the thought. No, he reminded himself, they were destined for one another. Aemon would not choose the half-brother who despised him over his own soulmate. 

His father found him hours later, still sitting at the table, staring at the wilting food. "Ah, my son, you must not fret so. The boy has had many shocks."

"He's always known his soulmate was a Blackfyre."

"There is knowing and there is _knowing_. I highly doubt any of the people over there took him aside to speak to him of his mark. Varys says only that he was mocked for it and forced to always hide it."

Flinching, Aegor remembered some of the stories that Varys had told him over the years, of all the suffering Aemon had gone through because of that mark. In the past, maybe Aegor would have suffered, too, at the height of their families' hatred for each other, but instead it had always been seen as a boon. 

"I can't force him to accept me. If he resists the bond...what else is there?"

Illyrio squeezed his shoulder, sighing. "Your mother and I were bonded, as you know. As unusual as our match was, neither of us could have resisted the other for long if we'd tried. Give him time and then speak to him, my son. You have a gift for oratory, you so carelessly use it with the Golden Company, use it now for your destined."

Aegor nodded, thinking over the suggestion. He wanted to go straight to Aemon, to reason with him, but he knew it would do no good. The touch had triggered the earliest stages of their bond, enough that he could feel the edges Aemon's tumultuous emotions. Someday soon he hoped they could complete the bond, grow close enough to discern even weaker or hidden feelings.

"In the meantime," Illyrio continued, patting Aegor's head, "my guards will make sure he doesn't leave and my maids will see to his upkeep. You have much planning to do, you leave for Westeros so soon."

***

Aemon stayed in his room all the next day, Aegor and Illyrio both leaving him alone. Well, mostly alone. Now that they'd touched, in such close proximity Aemon could feel little pieces of Aegor's emotions--worry, impatience, excitement. He didn't know how much of that related directly to him, though, and he tried to keep his own emotions as calm as possible in return.

The day after, Aegor entered without knocking while Aemon was staring sightlessly at a page of Valyrian poetry by the window. Servants carried trays of food and drink, as well as piles of cloth (clothing, Aemon thought, looking like enough to fill a wardrobe) and unidentifiable boxes.

"We'll be heading to Westeros in a sennight. You'll need to keep your strength up."

Aemon narrowed his eyes. "I won't fight for you."

Aegor actually rolled his eyes at that, ignoring Aemon's outraged look. "I don't expect you to. But you _will_ be present where it's safe. I want you there for my coronation."

"That will take months," Aemon pointed out, picking at some of the food. 

It was all his favorites, giving him the disturbing notion that Aegor had purposefully learned about his tastes from Illyrio and his servants. Maybe even from Varys before that.

"Maybe, or maybe not." 

Narrowing his eyes at that reply, wondering what Aegor wasn't telling him, Aemon almost missed the servants bringing forth the first few sets of clothing.

They were mostly red with a black dragon on each piece. Aemon shuddered at the sight, remembering all of the horror stories about the Blackfyre rebellions. He felt a spike of emotions from Aegor again, a mix of annoyance and hurt, and wondered what he'd revealed from his own end.

"Marriage is, of course, a formality, but my father has brought a septon to us to perform one tonight."

"...Tonight? Isn't that...isn't that a bit soon?"

Aegor brushed a hand over his cheek, staring deeply into Aemon's eyes. Aegor's were a deep blue, he realized, with enough purple in them to show through in some lighting. He certainly looked far more like a dragon than Aemon.

"You've known all your life you were destined for a Blackfyre, Aemon. What did you think it would be like?"

"Honestly? I...thought we'd be nobodies living in Essos together."

Shaking his head, Aegor motioned at the servants to start helping Aemon undress as he searched through the boxes. Finally, after long moments of Aemon trying to preserve some sort of modesty in front of the near-stranger and Aegor mostly seeming to ignore him, he looked back up, holding a smaller box.

From it Aegor took a band that at first Aemon thought was just red--but as it came closer he realized it was Valyrian steel covered with garnets, rubies, and other stones so that the dark metal only peaked through. Blackfyre colors, once more.

"I'm not a doll," he muttered, though he made no move to stop Aegor from setting the circlet on his head, worried what would happen if he tried to physically dissuade the other in his father's home. 

"I've spent so long dreaming of you, Aemon, you don't even know. Every whisper Uncle Varys sent me, every story the sailors told, I couldn't get enough. I think it was worse, knowing who you were, but with you always just out of reach." He pushed a lock of Aemon's hair behind his ear, Aemon near-swooning from the intensity of Aegor's emotions with the skin-to-skin contact. "My family was plotting to take the throne even before I was born, before you were born. The gods knew I would be the one they placed upon it, they marked us to show their favor."

Aemon shook his head, but he couldn't bring himself to pull away. The new clothing was soft, comfortable, fitting perfectly and in the style he'd always preferred. Aegor was dressing him in his colors, but he wasn't trying to make him something he wasn't.

"You always knew your brother would be a failure as a king. You've avoided news from Westeros since coming here, but it won't surprise you. Another civil war has broken out, your brother's reign is already in tatters."

Eyes wide, Aemon wondered what that meant for King's Landing, for his family in the North and the few friends he had. 

"When I take the throne, you'll be able to continue your work, I promise you. We'll put it in the budget, money for new orphanages, for more food for the poor, whatever dreams you've had, I'll fulfill. I want you to be happy. Us to be happy."

"And the only way you'll be happy is overthrowing my family?"

"...It's what I've worked my whole life for, Aemon."

"You wouldn't give it up?" he challenged, rising his chin and looking Aegor in the eyes. "For me?"

Aegor took a deep breath and stepped closer, the gap between them taken away and their bodies flush together. "You won't ask that of me, Aemon, because it's not what you really want. You dream of doing good things, of helping people. You need the power of the crown behind you."

Their lips brushed, both their bodies shuddering at the increased contact, and Aemon felt so many things from Aegor now he wasn't sure whose emotions were whose. 

"You don't have to do anything but let this happen, Aemon."

"And support a Usurper."

"Other houses have ended up being ruled by more distant kin before, if not for Bloodraven's kinslaying, a Blackfyre might have been on the throne already."

Aemon felt himself wavering, knew Aegor must feel it, too, for he ducked in for another kiss. "I could have taken the Iron Throne without you knowing until the deed was done. I could have left you here in blissful ignorance, my father taking care of you and buffering you from the world. But I _chose_ to tell you, Aemon, because you deserve to know. Your family has all but thrown away the throne over and over again, it's time for mine to have our turn."

"I...I can't deal with this, yet. I need more time." He pushed away, moving to the other side of the room.

He felt the slightest flash of anger, but it disappeared quickly and Aegor simply nodded. "I'll come by again tomorrow. We can share that meal we never had a chance to have."

***

Aegor left for Westeros before he could fully work things out with Aemon, but he knew he'd come around eventually. He'd stopped allowing Aemon to isolate himself from news of his homeland, instead making sure he heard of every terrible, stupid thing his half-brother did. If nothing else, he'd make Aemon see he was better in comparison.


End file.
